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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965009">Achievement Unlocked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt'>Monsterunderkilt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Manse [38]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:54:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Manse dwellers present a gift for completing my year-long task</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Manse [38]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Achievement Unlocked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Curled up on my chaise again, I pause before I turn to the last page in my book. With a deep breath, I take a few minutes to study over the notes and then finally read out loud Sonnet 154. Dozens more before it turned out to be raunchy, bawdy things, this one is no different. I rather like the reference to the old story about Cupid falling asleep and having his firebrand stolen by virgins and ironically setting a nearby well of water on fire.</p><p> </p><p>Came there for cure and this by that I prove,</p><p>Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.</p><p> </p><p>And with that final poetic innuendo about venereal disease of all things, I close my book and smile, looking out the balcony window at the dusky sky. Already, I find myself unable to believe I’ve reached this point... for the second time. After a few minutes, I get up and put on my dressing gown so I can go downstairs and make some tea. I go to the bedroom door, but just before I grab the handle, it swings open and Sir sneaks in as quick as a mouse, shutting it behind him. He pauses, back against the door, and stares at me. He swallows and takes my hands in his, eyes wide.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you done it?” Ken whispers.</p><p> </p><p>“Have I done—? Oh. Yes. I’ve done it. Just now.”</p><p> </p><p>He pats my hand and nods, then sneaks back out of the door, shutting it again.</p><p> </p><p>I hold my breath a few seconds, my face scrunched with bemusement, but then I sigh and shake my head as I swing the door back open.</p><p> </p><p>“CONGRATULATIONS!”</p><p> </p><p>I clutch at my heart with surprise to see half a dozen smiling Manse-dwellers before me—Tilda, Ben, Alan, Jon, Stephen, and Ken—and I blush very much too hard. They toss shiny confetti at me and cheer as I slowly step forward, open mouthed at this display of celebration. I get a solid hug and kiss from every one of them in turn, and then they all gather around and contain me in a warm womb of a group hug.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, I am allowed to step back and address my adoring public. I bow to them and feel the tears twinkle in the corners of my eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you all so much for pulling me through this intense year of weirdness, and for supporting my very lengthy avenue of study. I know that on a few occasions, I’ve spurned your various suggestions to goof off while I focused on my old buddy William, but it was all for the good of the project. And it’s finished right on time for me to prepare for my next project, even though I have to admit I will not pull myself away from the Bard entirely. I miss his verse and prose already, and find such solace in stolen moments of reading a scene here, an act there, memorizing a few favorite lines. It’s been one of the most enriching experiences since... well, the last time I read all this shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Follow you heart, bubbe,” Jon says, smiling sweetly. “Turn the snob-o-meter up to eleven.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t deny yourself anything that gives you such pure pleasure,” Tilda says.</p><p> </p><p>“As long as it’s not hard drugs, you’re fine,” Alan adds with a wink.</p><p> </p><p>“The day you don’t snort at my Hamlet jokes, I will assume you are dead,” Stephen says. “So keep obsessing.”</p><p> </p><p>“We have a little present for you,” Ben announces, stepping forward, bringing his hidden hand out from behind his back. It’s a small black box tied with a long ribbon. His singular smile is almost too much for me to bear. “Open it, please! We’ve been waiting for so long.”</p><p> </p><p>Ken leans in, taps the box and smiles. “It’s just a small token, but I think it commemorates a job well done.”</p><p> </p><p>I take the box and kiss Ben on the cheek. I pause to take in all the anticipatory grins on each of my favorite faces, then I pull the ribbon and open it. Inside, a tiny silver strawberry and a golden “s” hang from a chain. I close my teary eyes, allowing the wave of symbolic recognition flow over me.</p><p> </p><p>“William’s deceptive strawberry,” I say under my breath.</p><p> </p><p>“The crescive fruit amongst the nettles,” Ken says.</p><p> </p><p>I blink up at him, and breathe deeply, his gravity forming a well. I’m starstruck—self-conscious in the extreme. A blink of light from reality peeks between the flickering frames of my own mind’s motion picture. Then I catch myself, and let out a laugh. “Thank you. Thank you all forever and all times.”</p><p> </p><p>With that, I get another round of hugs and kisses and somewhere in there, Ken promises to fetch me my tea so I can retire for the evening. I bid everyone good night.</p><p> </p><p>Wandering outside onto the balcony, I admire the beauty of the courtyard below.The strands of white Christmas lights that we had hung on bushes and wrapped on the tree branches over Thanksgiving break twinkle with the evening’s cool breeze—new constellations of stars laid over a patch of earth like a sequined swatch of black velvet. I lean on the railing, holding my robe tighter around my shoulders as I feel a growing lump in my throat.</p><p> </p><p>“I have something else for you.”</p><p> </p><p>I turn to see Ken setting my tea mug down on the wicker end table. He smiles as he steps up to my side and fishes an even smaller box out of his pocket. He takes my hand and places it in my palm. “I’m proud of you, Missus.”</p><p> </p><p>With a hitched breath, I say, “I couldn’t have done this without you, Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes narrow with all seriousness now. “You’ve done it before. And you got started without any help from me.”</p><p> </p><p>“But back then, you appeared along the way.You... you bookended this strange chunk of my life. You were there before everything changed... and then you came back when it all went wrong. To me you’re the patron saint of stability and endurance.” I wipe at my burning eyes, sniffling, the little box shaking in my hand. The light in my mind flickers again.</p><p> </p><p>Ken pulls me gently against him, his warm, heavy arms enfolding me like a weighted blanket of acceptance. He leads me to sit down on the loveseat and kneels before me, looking up into my now emo-moistened countenance. Somehow, twenty years fall away from his expression, but fifty more enter his being—chutzpah and wisdom swirl together into this one remarkable person before me. He guides my hands to lift the top off the box.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a simple, golden ring, elegant and delicate. Threadbare, but shining, like a dear, ethereal memory. He takes it out and slips it onto my right middle finger, to balance out the one on my left. He kisses it from the inside of my palm, then reaches up and tucks my hair away from my face. “I wanted to give you some kind of marriage gift, since I didn’t have one for you one before,” he says softly.“This is to remember me by.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Ken—”</p><p> </p><p>He stops everything with a sultry kiss, warming every bit of me that previously felt the cold. There have been so many moments when I can’t imagine ever tiring of this man, and the heights of that feeling are anchored in the everyday occasions as much as the exciting ones. This moment is my favorite kind, because it feels like both.</p><p> </p><p>As Ken hugs my middle and I wrap my arms around his neck, his head rests against my chest, cheek nuzzling the bare skin not covered by the lapels of my robe. My heart begins to flutter.</p><p> </p><p>“As if I could forget, Sir Ken. I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you too, darling.”</p><p> </p><p>I tug on his arms, encouraging him to get up from the floor and sit on the chair beside me. I swing my legs up and climb into his lap. Ken cuddles me against him and I lay my head on his shoulder. I rest my hand over his heart, which keeps an exact pace with my own. This is his job, his lot in my Manse—to hold me tight and safe against whatever weather comes. Whatever fickle fun I have, wherever I might drift off to in my curiosity, creativity, and adventure, he will anchor me, and feel like home at the end of the day. He will bring me back to myself—the real light behind the frames.</p><p> </p><p>That silent contract is struck between us with one more kiss. Then we shiver and laugh, jumping up to hurry indoors, shutting out the rising winds of the unknown.</p><p> </p>
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